


Nothing You Could Do

by yacayaca



Category: Original Work
Genre: but its about someone dealing with their brothers death, no one really dies in the course of the story, so i figured better safe than sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9555164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yacayaca/pseuds/yacayaca
Summary: “It’s okay,” he’d said, smiling faintly, eyes sad. “There was nothing you could do.”Recovering.





	

“It’s okay,” he’d said, smiling faintly, eyes sad. “There was nothing you could do.”

_Nothing you could do._

You can’t seem to move, staring at the wall blankly. You don’t feel sad, not yet. You’re still numb, like it didn’t even happen. People have knocked on your door several times today, but they all eventually left. Once or twice, someone has hammered on the door shouting, but finally they leave too. You don’t really care. You don’t care about much, right now. 

_Nothing you could do._

The hurt crashes in suddenly, out of nowhere. You let out a choked sob and curl up, hiding your face as his words echo around in your head. Of course there was something you could have done! You could have gotten help, stopped the bleeding yourself, you took first aid! There is always something. You had frozen up, able to do nothing but watch and flutter your hands uselessly. It wasn’t okay, no matter what he’d said. It’s directly your fault that he’s gone. 

_Nothing you could do._

You stay like that for a long time, curled around yourself, crying. Someone must have decided to leave you be for now, because the knocking has stopped. You’re alone with nothing but your own thoughts and the memory. There had been so much blood. You’d found yourself rendered quite useless at the sight, but he hadn’t blamed you for that. He hadn’t blamed you for anything, in the end. 

_Nothing you could do._

You leave, eventually. You have to. If you didn’t the people who kept knocking on the door would have broken it down and forced you out. So, finally, you leave. You eat something, you take a shower, you attend the funeral, but you don’t smile, and you don’t speak. You don’t acknowledge the people around you. You hear someone say that you are coping, that you’re mourning, that you need to be left alone and you’ll get over it. The people they are speaking to seem to believe it, but you don’t. How could you get better? You can’t fix something when it has been shattered, and the pieces ground into dust. That’s what you feel like. Dust. 

_Nothing you could do._

It never stops hurting. The wound scabs over, heals, leaves nothing but a scar. But you still feel it. It aches dully in the back of your mind all the time, although you talk and laugh and smile again. It still reopens sometimes, every few weeks. You still wake in the middle of the night, screaming his name, tears in your eyes and blood dripping down your arm. It feels like a punishment. How dare you smile when this happened to him. Did you care so little? How dare you live when he did not. You carry on, though. You still live. 

_Nothing you could do._


End file.
